


liberos aren't bound by time and distance

by deific



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Mentioned Hinata Shouyou, Yaku Morisuke-centric, twitter user @/tosskweeeeeed said to be the change i want to see in the world, watch me populate the yaku-morisuke centric tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:20:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26856592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deific/pseuds/deific
Summary: on yaku morisuke, the philosophy of liberos and what it means to play volleyball
Comments: 4
Kudos: 17





	liberos aren't bound by time and distance

Volleyball was a game of space, this Morisuke learned in the first few months of practice.  The court and it’s dimensions, the trajectory of a spike, and where it’s going to land, the length needed to connect the ball from one place towards another guaranteed to give their team another chance to fight back. This, he learned from his senpais as they taught him how to do a perfect receive, to do a dig, to protect himself less and just dive for the ball.

‘We’ll make a libero of you yet, Yaku.’

Doing a perfect receive while still being aware of where the ball should be sent, the amount of power needed to let the ball bounce from one pair of hands to another, the small gap between the blockers that Morisuke would utilize and give them a point.

Adjust to their spikes, draw little attention to yourself. This was how Morisuke got his team to the top.

Volleyball was a game of distance, this he learned too in the matter of months. He walks the court long enough to know how to receive and dig the balls within it and even out of it. He learns and hones this skill to near perfection, both theoretically and practically, using every means that comes his way to keep the ball alive. He knows the spirit of the game lies between the width of his fingers, the short distance between the ball and the floor. That small gap is their team’s lifeline. Distance was everything to a libero.

The first lesson he learned of volleyball, though, was that it was a game of height. It doesn’t necessarily have to be your physical height, but it is how high you jump, how far you can reach. And, for lack of better words, Morisuke was short. That was what everyone thought the moment he signed for the volleyball team in middle school. But, they welcomed him gladly. They said he was the perfect build as a libero, said that they needed one anyway. And Morisuke liked volleyball enough to be okay with any position, so he listens and watches senpais from the sidelines. Their team didn’t stand out too much, but Morisuke was anything but a quitter.

Libero was not a position made specifically for short people, Morisuke holds that belief close to his chest. He’s earned that position himself, he’d like to think. He doesn’t want the title ‘libero’ to be gifted to him just because of inherited genes he couldn’t control.

That’s why practices everyday without fail, turns up at practice earlier if he can. That’s why he watches volleyball videos and tournaments whenever he can. That’s why he drags his friends to watch different high school matches to stare at their libero.

Volleyball may be a game of height, but Morisuke would be damned if that would stop him.

On the day he stepped on the Nekoma High Volleyball Club, he had already made up his mind on what he wanted to do. Break their opponents’ hearts and dominate nationals. Liberos are meant to stand out on the court, Morisuke may not be too different in a team so proficient in receiving, but all he needed to do was repeat what he did in middle school.

Be agile, be attentive, and flow seamlessly with the others. Be the most dangerous defender to look out for, a libero who kills a spiker without touching the ball.

First year was a blur of introductions, adjusting and relearning. They didn’t make it to Nationals, but that was fine. Morisuke was still adjusting to high school level matches, they have another shot next year. 

Second year comes by. They get a new setter and two wing spikers. It’s nice to meet one of Kuroo’s most successful impulse control. They don’t make it to Nationals again, but Morisuke’s not a quitter. They still have one more year.

Third year knocks at the door and the utter  _ nerd  _ Kuroo Tetsurou becomes captain. Sometimes Morisuke wonders why liberos aren’t allowed to be captains, was it the height discirmination? They get a middle blocker, a wing spiker and at last a libero. Shibayama Yuuki, Morisuke’s own protege. He’s now sure of his place as libero - how could he not? - and they have a new coach now, someone more experienced whose name strangely mimics their school. Morisuke won’t judge, coincidences like that are rare.

They lose the Interhigh Tournament. Kuroo and Kai go through their own five stages of grief. Morisuke doesn’t waste time to pick himself up again. As a libero, space was everything to him, he doesn’t have space for regrets.

Spring beckons around the corners, soft sunlight re-energizes the Nekoma Volleyball Club. Morisuke, Kuroo and Kai stay for the team. They have one last shot at Nationals, the Spring Tournament. 

Winning the Tokyo Representative Playoff was crucial. They were lucky, this time Tokyo gets to send three teams for Nationals. It’s an opportunity that doesn’t come very often, so they take what they can.

There’s a main roster switch.

There’s the summer training camp.

There’s another chance at this, at dominating Nationals.

He must not squander this. He cannot squander this.

But, he did it anyway.

The bright lights of the court are even more blaring, the noise of the audience around him rings too loudly for his taste, his eardrums are a pitch too sensitive, and his vision fluctuates in and out of focus. It makes Morisuke nauseous. The world was tilted, blurring and sharpening, twisting, and straightening. Strong hands are helping him up. Morisuke’s arm is slung over the person’s back. The touch doesn’t do much to ground him back to reality, though. All he knows for certain to be real are the tears that prick his eyes and the cacophony echoing through his head.

‘You failed, you failed, you failed.’

When Yamamoto speaks, though, that brings him back to the game, back to the point. In a panic, he quickly glances at the scoreboard. They scored a point, Morisuke can breathe easy, if only for a moment.

“Don’t worry about me, Yamamoto. I can still play, just let me-”

The step rips a scream out of him and Yamamoto is immediately on his side. The creases on his brow deepen as he tries to stabilize Morisuke without hurting him more. Kuroo’s there in a heartbeat along with Nobuyuki. He can barely make out the still figure of Lev, eyes were blown wide, mouth slack. If Morisuke looks even further, towards the bench, his protege, Shibayama Yuuki stands terrified. Morisuke can’t remember a time more humiliating than this. He’s trembling under Yamamoto’s touch, he knows, but who can blame him?

The towel on his face feels surreal, but it helps to ground him if a little. The bench was a realm he wasn’t unfamiliar to him, but he’s always played in every Nekoma match. Even in his first year, he’s always been Nekoma’s libero. Maybe that’s why he felt so nervous about being off the court in a game for the first time in years. Morisuke was the stock model photo of ‘taking good care of yourself because you’re all goddamn athletes who rely on health so act like it.’ Injury was not supposed to be in his vocabulary.

_ Volleyball was a game of space, even outside of the practiced court, this Morisuke knew. It’s just that Morisuke’s practice does not extend to the sidelines, to the bench. _

Nekoma was a flexible team. They were the epitome of what ideal receives should be, the masters of connecting. But how do you connect when you’ve been forcefully disconnected? 

None of his senpais in middle school prepared him for this. It was either being on the court and playing, or being off-court but focusing. Never a twisted ankle, never benched like this.

He watches his kouhais like a cat ready to pounce. Naoi had asked if he was worried about Shibayama. Morisuke recalls the near terrified expression his kouhai wore. He trusted Shibayama, the boy had lots of ways to go, but this match may be good for him. Still, Morisuke knew he was a monster to fill in. A glance at the Nohebi team and he knows they see Shibayama as a weak link.

Shibayama may be new, but he was Morisuke’s successor. What kind of demon senpai was he if he didn’t train someone to competency?

He airs worries towards Lev, though. Inuoka was a fine receiver, soon to be on the caliber of Nekoma, but Lev was not too near it. The reason he was put in the main roster was that his long limbs could help push Nekoma further.

_ In the end, those who do not change will not evolve. _

His worries about Lev are dispelled when they win the match though. Looking on at his teammates from the sidelines, maybe this little break of his could help propel the team. Lev’s thirst for spotlight has been quenched for the moment. He’s glad the boy had found a home in their team. Shibayama too seemed to stand a little straighter, eyes a little brighter, smile a little wider. Morisuke can see the monster his protege could be, and he couldn’t be prouder.

Volleyball was a game of space, Morisuke remembered. Space was everything to a libero. But there’s a new lesson to be learned here. Volleyball may be a game of space, but space was not limited to just dimension, centimeters, meters, and kilometers. The seconds taken from spike to receive to set to another spike, the speed of his steps increased for a dig nearly out of reach, the focus to not miss a second or a beat of the game. To not get lost in the hype of a point, to stay on the court, to play for just one more second.

The time spent on the bench, watching the opponents, watching his team, and watching how they grow. That was volleyball too.

He remembers this lesson again when he watches the semi-finals with the rest of Nekoma. Hinata Shouyou, black crow of the dumpster, plummets down to Earth. They say he has a fever, burning 39.1 degrees. They change players, Hinata’s on the bench, and for one brief moment, Morisuke feels connected to him.

When the distance feels too long. When the dimension feels too far. That time off-court to recollect and figure out the opponent, that was volleyball.

Volleyball was a game of space, in every sense of the word. In dimension, from centimeters to meters to kilometers. In time, from seconds to minutes to hours. Volleyball was a game of space, from the narrow gap fingers can go through to keep the ball up to the few seconds he has before the ball and lifeline drops. 

Volleyball was a game of space, on or off-court, in time or in distance, this Morisuke remembers.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading! if you enjoyed it, leave a kudos and a comment; those always make my day :D
> 
> you can catch me on twitter: @XeepZorg


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